getting philosophical
by orange crush
Summary: "the poofter doth protest too much.." Angel doesn't like the idea that Buffy+Spike could = love ? Spike, however, is pretty keen on it..S6-ish...S/B, mildly A/C.(rating is for Spike's potty mouth)


There was a brief second after the door crashed open, a second when Angel could have taken a weapon down from the wall, or from underneath the desk; but he spent that second looking at the shards of his formerly impressive original hardwood paneling. A vision of Cordelia, throwing her hands up in disgust, passed over the backs of his eyelids; and then Spike's hands were around his throat, lifting him, backing him into the wall.

"Where," he panted, furious, though he didn't need the air, "do you get off telling her that ? Where the _fuck_ do you get off telling her that ? You're the _fucking_ monster. You're the fucking _aberration_, sleeping with that undead bitch who had your cub. You and your fucking poncey soul. You don't get a fucking _say_ in what she does anymore."

"Nice to see you too, Spike." he said dryly, and cracked his fists into the younger vampire's midsection. Spike grunted, but didn't release him. Maybe reason was a better option, considering he looked mad enough to take on the entire demon population of LA. "How exactly do you know what I told her ?"

"Talked to her 'fore I drove here, you stupid pillock." he replied, through his teeth. "She's probably crying in her room right now. That make you happy ? I wanna know where you get the stones to be so self-righteous."

"You're no good for her, Spike. And sooner or later she's gonna figure it out."

"You're the one who's no good for her."

"Oh, really ?"

"Yes, really !" he shouted. "You tried to fuckin' ruin her ! You made sure you were so built up in her teenage mind that nobody could ever take your place. And then you walked out the fuckin' door ! She was sixteen, you worthless nonce ! And for a long time, she thought she couldn't love anybody else for the rest of her life." he trailed off slightly here, his hands dropped to his sides; and Angel took a large step back, on instinct. He regarded Spike with genuine confusion. The anger was expected. The fury, the indignation, all perfectly in character. The smugness was lacking. And the heartbreak ? Utterly out of place. "The rest of her _life_." the blonde repeated bitterly, and kicked Angel's desk a good one. 

"Hey. Okay. The property damage stops now."

"Get stuffed." he spat. 

"Spike..." he sighed, and sat down in the swivel chair behind his desk. At least Spike was in 'talking' mode now. As if in answer to his thoughts, the younger vampire upended a wastebasket, threw it across the room, and sat down on the edge of Angel's desk, looking slightly calmer.

Or, about as close to 'talking' mode as Spike ever gets, Angel amended silently.

"I want an explanation. I mean that. You sit there, and you tell me why Buffy can't have something, someone who'll make her happy. Someone that'll take care of her."

"Oh, right, like you, Spike ? You'll take care of her ?" Angel tried hard, and failed, to keep the amusement out of his voice. Spike snarled.

"Damn right I will." 

Angel had to admit, what he'd heard about Spike from Willow, and from the occasional communication with Buffy and the others, was painting a very different picture than the blonde fiend he'd razed Europe with. Painting a new picture, indeed. Painting him in abstracts, views you didn't see, his face with three noses. Interesting. But there had to be reasons.

"She deserves better. She deserves... a normal life."

"Listen to yourself !" he howled, and hopped off of the desk. Spike paced a furious half-circle around it, cracking his knuckles. "Get a new line, you nonce ! _She's_ not sodding normal ! She's the Slayer ! Normal got off about three exits back ! It's not fair, but it's true. What she deserves... maybe not normal, but.." he almost sounded choked up for a moment, but recovered himself. "What she deserves- is a _real_ life."

"You're dead."

"Ah, argument number two. Very original. So are you, you know... doesn't look like the cheerleader minds very much." Spike tossed that remark off, and Angel stood up stiffly. "Touch a nerve, did I ?"

"It's not like that." Angel hissed, and then realized how ridiculous he looked. He sat down, fiddling with the objects on his desk. The pencil holder, the small notebook... presents from Cordelia. No, not that. Don't think about that.

"The poofter doth protest too much." Spike said archly, and lit a cigarette. Angel frowned at the thin trail of smoke coming from it.

"Not in here, you don't."

"And, again, get stuffed." he said, the cigarette hanging from his lips.

"Why are you doing this ?" he sounded tired.

"I love her." he replied, sucking in a breath he didn't need. It wasn't bragging. It wasn't some tortured declaration. It just sounded like Spike had learned a fact, and was reciting it. 

It sounded like truth.

"Spike, you and I both know what you are."

"So does she, mate. She's a big lass, Angel. She don't need you to be her daddy. You know what I think ?"

"A hearty 'I don't care' expresses my sentiments."

"Be like that. But what I think is, you're just jealous. Angry that she moved on. You wanted to be at the top of the list for all eternity, that's what I'm thinking. Well, mate," he leaned in a little closer, and blew a cloud of smoke into Angel's face, "you just got bumped down a notch. Alright ?"

Angel steeled himself for the torrent of rage he was going to have to hold back from within. Prepared himself mentally for his inner demon to come roaring forth; made ready to contain himself from tearing Spike's head off with just his index fingers.

And sat there, blinking in surprise, when he realized he was just pretty much annoyed.

"Alright." he said, and sighed, slumping back into his chair. "I love her, you know. I probably always will." Spike raised an eyebrow.

"I get that. But it's not that same, is it ?"

"No. Shit, Spike," he sat up, flustered, "why am I admitting this to you ?"

"If I recall correctly, you're the one who told me that things change."

"Yeah. I guess so." he regarded the bleached-blonde with disgust, but allowed a little bit of his newfound respect for him to creep into the glare. "Still doesn't mean I'll take any more of this 'barging in and breaking stuff' shit from you."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Peaches." Spike smiled; and extinguished his cigarette in the rich finish of Angel's desk.


End file.
